


Damning the Flood - Part I (Rated R / No Sex Version)

by aimlesscoyote, Gabriel Muse (aimlesscoyote)



Category: dominion - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Brotherly Love, Gen, No Sex, Violence, Wing-Pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/aimlesscoyote, https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/Gabriel%20Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>This is the non-adult, (almost) worksafe version of "Damning the Flood."<br/></b><br/>It is Rated R because there is violence, blood, and the F word. It contains NO SEX.<br/><span class="small">If you want to read the version with sex it is here: <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4609023">Damning the Flood - Adult Version</a></span>.</p><p> Gabriel goes looking for Michael after a curt dismissal offends him. They end up having a heated exchange (or three) in the desert when Father's Flood takes charge.</p><p>    It is in accordance with canon and assumes the following:<br/>* Takes place shortly after the end of season one, before season two begins.<br/>* Alex has gone to Gabriel's Aerie<br/>* Michael is very fond of Alex<br/>* Gabriel and Michael have a pre-existing (brotherly?) loving relationship going back thousands of years.<br/>* I did take liberties with G & M's ability to communicate silently, though.</p><p>Warning: This scene contains a rather dark portrayal of Michael which may not agree with your views.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damning the Flood - Part I (Rated R / No Sex Version)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Straight Roommate](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Straight+Roommate).
  * Inspired by [Damning the Flood - Part I (Rated NC-17 / Adult Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4609023) by [aimlesscoyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/aimlesscoyote), [Gabriel Muse (aimlesscoyote)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/Gabriel%20Muse). 
  * Inspired by [All That Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478435) by [aimlesscoyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/aimlesscoyote), [Gabriel Muse (aimlesscoyote)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/Gabriel%20Muse). 



> My roommate is a straight man. He enjoys my fiction, but does not enjoy male bits. He wanted to read what happened between Michael and Gabriel in the desert, so I took Ch. 10 / Damning the Flood and wrote a sex-free version just for him. Here it is, in case you have straight, squeamish, or underage friends who might like to read it, too.

©2015 A. M. Coy - No reproduction or redistribution without prior, written permission is permitted (coy at dreaminggates d0t com).

**"Damning the Flood"**

_Go away, Gabriel. If I want you, I will call._

Michael's dismissal still stung like a slap on freshly-shaved skin. Recalling it hours later, Gabriel clenched the rail of his private balcony. The metal was frigid in the wind, which kept ripping strands of straight brown hair across his fierce blue eyes. He glared out over the jagged mountains encircling his Aerie. What to do?

In fairness, he had reached out this morning by accident. Half-asleep and fumbling, not realizing Michael was gone. Still, there was no need for rejection like that. Michael never used to treat him so. Now was he a servant, to be dismissed offhand?

Gabriel reached out again, his mind sweeping across the distance. He used the link which once had bound them so tightly together:

_Where are you, Brother?_

_Away._ Michael's answer was curt.

_Are we to play hide and seek?_

_A Flood always seeks out the lowest places._

Ah. Gabriel winced at the bite in the word, "Flood." Well, he should expect that; he had triggered the response. He, along with the expected idiocy of Vega's elite, had carefully crafted the entire calamity.

But "Flood" meant Brother was somewhere taking pity on himself. Or perhaps wreaking destruction. No, the dark tone suggested the former, not the latter. He would be invigorated and lively, if he were killing again. . . . Then again, with Brother, both were possible at the same time. It might be interesting to see.

Gabriel dug into his private stash. He filled a sack with treats, things he knew his Brother loved. Father only knew the last time Michael had eaten. As an afterthought he added a few treats for himself and stepped back to the balcony.

He unsheathed his wings with a great whooshing sound. For a moment he stood there, balancing their weight, reaching his mind across the distance. It was a simple matter of finding him. And he always could. Yes, there, to the west. He bent his legs and launched into the air.

He swept across barren, empty land where once towns had thrived and grown. He glanced now at their desiccated corpses without much emotion. These were relics of a time past, a time he had ended, nothing more. Humans were like dinosaurs. Father had cleansed the Earth of those, too. And when Father did come home, he would congratulate Gabriel on doing such an efficient job. Six billion was a lot of vermin to exterminate in a paltry quarter century.

Gabriel zeroed in on Brother's signal. It was powerful, so much stronger than the subtle tugs of his Lieutenants. More like an extension of himself shimmering across the distance, always calling to him. Brother wasn't far, and Gabriel's wings could take him anywhere in just a short time.

Before long, Gabriel came in close and began to circle. The waxing moon cast the rocky valley in crystal starkness: clean lines, clear edges and shadow. The ridges of windswept hills and mountains, broken stone, stripped brush clawing at sky. Sand weaving its way between all of them, stretching to the horizon. This was a desert—Death Valley, if he were not mistaken. How apropos. Very low, very hot, and very deadly dry. Perfectly in need of a Flood.

Very . . . unpopulated, though. Then again, every place was "unpopulated," these days. Gabriel gave a tiny smirk.

Emotions were crisp here, too. Tension. No, more than tension. Gabriel closed his eyes, drinking it in: rage, frustration, guilt, and pain. The sharp scent of blood as well. It drifted to him on an updraft as he circled.

_What have you been doing, Brother?_ He wondered but did not send it through their link.

Michael had built for himself a rocky sanctuary, of sorts. Or was it a gladiator's pit? At the center of a small, dry arroyo or gulley he had walled himself in with great stones, some clearly hurled from on high. They were piled now twenty-odd feet at either end. The natural walls rose steeply both sides, leaving an open space in the center. There lay an area of white sand and strewn with rocks, brush, and the russet stains of iron and time.

Standing perfectly motionless at the center of that stood Brother. He was all shadow, draped in inky, hooded robes so deep Gabriel could scarce discern him from the true shadow about his feet. Michael's face was obscured and his midnight wings extended to their full, glorious length. He did not look up as Gabriel approached, but he did have one sword drawn—a fact Gabriel noted only when the moon glinted off the blade.

Gabriel settled on one of the artificial walls. He surveyed Michael's surroundings thoughtfully, then observed: "There's not much to do in there."

The answer was flat: "There's not much to kill."

Gabriel wondered idly if this were some sort of trap. "It makes a nice amphitheatre."

"It's a dam." Michael raised his sword. His back was to Gabriel, so it was hard to tell, but he appeared to be brushing the blade along one wing.

_Flood . . . dam. Alright, I get it, Brother._ Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm coming down. Don't slice me; I have treats."

"Fine."

Gabriel cupped his wings repeatedly and lowered himself to the center of Michael's dam. Dust rose to greet him; before it settled, he loosened—but did not draw—his own sword. He set down the sack on some packed earth and looked around. There was nothing here, merely the sand and ground, a scattering of fist-sized stones, some dead brush, and a great deal more tension. Halfway up the arroyo wall slumped what looked to have been an adobe structure; it had been handily demolished, no doubt by an angry angel. Not much of a trap, if it were one. He sheathed his wings.

Michael ignored him, continuing to do whatever it was with his blade. Gabriel squinted in the moonlight, focusing then on Brother. The smell of blood was stronger, here, but he couldn't tell—

Then the hair rose on the back of his neck. A thin, metallic rasp filled the night as Michael's blade skimmed along the top of his wing. It was shaving, not rubbing, and with each pass, dark feathers sheered off and fluttered down in the moonlight.

"Brother!" The cry rose from immediate sickness within him. Gabriel jolted forward for the blade, but abruptly Michael spun. Gabriel froze, feeling the steel slide against his throat, instead. His sickness for Brother now turned for himself. _Always with the damned edge to the throat,_ Gabriel thought bitterly.

Michael's face was unreadable. His stance announced he would gladly slice Gabriel just as readily as the wing. _"Now_ you care?"

Gabriel took a slow breath, one hand still uplifted. His eyes swept across Brother: the harsh expression, those cold green eyes so usually filled with life, those unspeakably magnificent wings, now bloody and missing rows of beautiful feathers. "Please don't do that."

"Which? Cut your throat or the feathers?"

"Either." Gabriel reached very slowly. He clasped his hand on Michael's wrist, holding the sword. _Easy, Brother,_ he sent through their link _. Let's talk._

Michael's mouth tightened. _You've a lot of nerve._

_I was worried about you._

Michael snorted then stepped back, jerking his blade away. It made a tiny slice as it retreated. Gabriel touched the cut, then licked his bloody thumb with a frown.

Michael's head nodded to acknowledge their surroundings. "The only way to stop a flood is to dam it." His sword returned to the wing. "The only way out of this? Is to fly."

"No! Don't do that." Gabriel stepped forward again as the blade returned to shaving.

Michael grimaced as it slipped deeper, bringing a fresh line of blood. "Go away, Brother."

Gabriel's mind was churning. Why was he _doing_ this? He was supposed to be off killing things, and venting his natural destructive urges that way. Was he . . . feeling guilty? Feeling bad? "Look, if you want penance, for Father's sake, I will whip you. You only killed one stupid woman."

"And several guards. And Louis."

"The last, a mercy killing."

Michael paused, eyes flashing. "A mercy killing due to _your_ interference! I should be shaving _your_ wings as well."

Gabriel's wings tightened in their sheaths. "No," he countered, "I released Louis. That idiot woman tortured him, not I."

"That woman I trusted. That is my onus. You see?" Michael went back to scraping feathers off.

Gabriel watched him in silence. This is not what he had expected. Anger, revenge, destruction, yes. Self-destruction? No. Michael knew better. This behavior was truly loathsome. Gabriel caught himself thinking in anguish: _Not your divine wings, Michael, anything but that!_

"The humans have made you ill," he ventured, after a minute.

"They have no part in this." Michael hissed as the blade again went awry. It was harder than it looked, to shave one's own wing while standing without any support. Blood spilled down his flight-feathers, making Gabriel wince.

"Those higher angels in Vega," Michael continued. "It was my responsibility to warn them. When I realized you were in Louis, I should have sent Noma to warn them instead."

Gabriel realized he was getting nowhere, here. Michael was set to blame either one or both of them. There seemed to be no option where everyone went home intact. "Please stop," he whispered. "I cannot stand to watch you do this."

"And _you_ killed three, with your bare hands." Michael paused, holding the dripping sword above his wing. His tone turned dangerous: "Where is _your_ compunction?"

Gabriel took a step back. _Oh, hell._ "Michael, I will not let you—"

Michael uncurled like a panther. He advanced on Gabriel slowly. "I could hold you responsible for all the higher angels' deaths, should I choose."

"Let's not." Gabriel knew this was exactly the time he should go. Michael was worked up, guilt-stricken and furious. Gabriel was the only thing here to hurt, other than himself. But he had never abandoned Michael in such a state.

"Shot down, because they received no warning. Because you were in Louis."

Gabriel took another, cautious step backward. "Calm, Michael, let's be calm."

"Oh, I am _perfectly_ calm," whispered Michael. His eyes were fixed on Gabriel's like twin tourmalines, cold and crystalline green. "I am not the only one to blame for what happened in Vega. You quite intentionally sabotaged me, _Brother._ Just to watch me crash!"

There was no getting out of this, now. Gabriel took a breath and went for it: "You needed it, Michael. Those monkeys were pissing on you behind your back!"

"Were they?"

"I didn't vivisect Louis!" Gabriel pointed out. "I didn't make them shoot those higher angels down. Nor did I make them invent nice, shiny new anti-angel toys, Michael. Do you know who did that? _They_ did that. They did that right behind your back. And you're lucky you got out before they could do the same to _you_!"

Michael's nostrils flared. The muscle in his jaw twitched, but he stopped advancing on Gabriel.

There, arguing. Arguing was better than cutting. And it was _far_ better than cutting him. Gabriel gestured toward Michael. "You see? You love them, you protect them, and they betray you, Michael." He jabbed his own chest. "I never betray you, Michael!"

Michael lunged for him. Gabriel ducked, but then Michael drove the solid hilt—not the blade—of the sword into the side of Gabriel's head. Gabriel had not been expecting that; he took the blow hard and staggered, seeing stars.

Michael dropped the blade. It was extraneous at this point; Michael wanted to express his rage, not murderous intent. Gabriel steeled himself but the blows still struck like thunder, one each to the cheekbone and jaw. He didn't even bother to block, at this point. It was better for Michael to hit him than to hurt himself. And, to be honest, it was familiar . . . almost welcome. Far better than a cold dismissal.

Michael paused, so Gabriel gave him a vicious shove. That sent him over the edge; Michael tackled him, thick shoulder ramming hard, full weight bearing down, strong fingers gripping for hair and throat. The ground slammed into Gabriel's back harder than concrete. He caught his breath and kicked upward, but Michael twisted and grabbed for his wrists. They grappled on the ground, Gabriel not a little inhibited by the stiff armor he wore.

Choking dust rose as they wrestled. It stirred in a mad dance when Gabriel's wings emerged, hissing challenge. Michael's wings met that challenge, arching high above both figures. The fresh, self-inflicted wounds dripped blood on Gabriel's feathers.

In the midst of battle, the smell now excited him. Gabriel flexed both wings, stiffening, and every razor edge of the feathers sprang out. Michael did likewise, but a second too late; Gabriel struck like a tight-coiled whip.

Michael grunted as Gabriel tagged him on both sides. Long feathers sheared off with metallic _shhing_ sounds. A heartbeat later, Michael returned the favor. He ripped Gabriel not only along one wing, but across the ribs as well. The wet sound of metal tearing leather and flesh filled the darkness.

Gabriel sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers clenched on Brother's arms as his back formed a tight arch. He went still, hissing as pain surged through in white-hot arcs. Michael went still too, panting on top of him. Then he raised his wings up, re-sheathing the blades.

"You betray me all the time," Michael growled.

"Only . . . for your own good."

Michael gripped him by the wrists and slammed him down on the ground. Michael bared his teeth in Gabriel's face. "How can you _possibly_ know what is 'good?' You use human infants for target practice!"

Gabriel shuddered. "Brother," he whispered. "I only want to protect you. And bring Father home."

"You have an _awful_ way of showing it!"

Gabriel gazed up at him, feeling rather out-of-sorts. "I only want to bring Father home." He shifted beneath Michael.

"You keep saying that," Michael answered angrily. "But your methods are absolutely wrong. I've told you this."

Gabriel licked his dry lips. He did not want to fight. Not injured. Not . . . not Brother. He laid his wings flat on the ground, a sign of surrender, and Michael's eyebrows went up.

"My methods may be wrong," Gabriel murmured, "but they are _always_ meant to bring us closer."

Michael frowned, but finally nodded assent. "Let me see your wound." Michael's knees sank into the dust on either side of Gabriel's hips. Michael released his wrists and began to unbuckle Gabriel's armor, elegant hands quick with familiarity and habit.

Michael pulled off the damaged top half of Gabriel's armor. Gabriel gasped, feeling his skin prickle in the cool moonlight. Blood was streaming down his ribs from the slice Michael had given with his wings. It was not life-threatening, but would need healing, later.

Michael considered the wound. Then he bent, his graceful form pooling shadow over his captive. Gabriel felt the brush of warmth across his chilled flesh; Brother's fingers were stroking the ragged skin. He arched into it, digging his fingers into shallow sand, finding packed earth beneath.

"This is bleeding badly," Michael whispered.

"It can wait," Gabriel managed.

"Do you have flame?"

Gabriel hesitated. "In the sack." He pointed, wincing as movement stretched the wound.

Michael uncurled toward the sack. He was back in an instant, hand dipping and retrieving delights. Gabriel was gratified to see his eyes light while he dug. "Wine . . . dates . . . spiced cakes. Really, Brother, you brought these for me?"

"I figured you hadn't eaten," Gabriel groaned.

"Lie back," Michael commanded.

Gabriel did so, thinking that Brother would heal him. "Do you need one of my feathers?"

"A moment." Michael slipped a date into Gabriel's mouth. He then settled on top of Gabriel's legs, green eyes shining. He took a swig from the wine bottle. 

Gabriel closed his eyes, drinking in this moment: the smell of the wine, the tingling-sweet fruit in his mouth. Michael's heaviness, the rusty lingering scent of blood. The way Michael's robes had cast shadow upon them both, there in the pale sand of the dammed-in arroyo.

Michael sat still on top of him, as if waiting for something. Gabriel reopened his eyes.

He sucked in a sharp breath, chest squeezing. Michael was holding his twin swords above Gabriel's head, quietly, just hovering there. His face was deadly serious.

Gabriel gave a strangled whisper: ". . . Brother?"

Michael's voice was flat: "You would have me kill every living thing in Vega."

Gabriel's mouth worked, but he had no answer for that. It was true, he had rather hoped Michael would go on a wild killing spree. At very least, he would turn the Chosen One to Gabriel's side. At best, he would extinguish the last major chunk of that stinking population. Michael stared at him now and _knew_. He knew.

Michael spoke the command as if to a disobedient officer: "Extend your wings."

Inwardly, Gabriel cringed. "Brother—"

_"Your wings!"_ This time, the order was barked. __

Gabriel took a long, deep breath. If he obeyed, Michael was going to do awful things to him. If he failed to obey, Michael was going to do worse. His options were slight. He was injured, with Michael seated on top. No one knew where he was nor expected him back reasonably soon. He was going to have to cooperate, or fight his way free. And Michael had no intention of just letting him go easily. All this he saw, and knew, by looking into those tourmaline eyes. He felt just a little bit ill.

He licked his lips uneasily, then very slowly slithered his wings through the sand, up over his head. "Well played, Brother," he whispered. He braced himself.

There was a stomach-turning _crunch_ —twice—when those blades drove through the flesh and cartilage at the top curve of the wing. Gabriel choked back screams, digging his fingernails into the sand. Michael knew where to aim, to pin the wing and not crush bone. He had done it correctly, but the pain was still sickening.

When it was done, to his amazement, Michael calmly sat back down on Gabriel's thighs. He took another swig from the wine bottle.

Gabriel stared at him, stunned. He was trying to catch his breath, but his body was threatening to slide into shock. He struggled with it, attempting to keep his voice steady. "We've played rough before, Brother, but this really—"

"Be quiet." Michael gazed up at the stars. There came a long pause, in which Gabriel continued to fight his own flesh. He was winning—his body was recovering—but the blood loss and surprise pain had taken their toll. When Michael next spoke, the question was nearly inaudible: "Do you know how close I came to killing him?"

Gabriel did not need to ask "who." The "him" was Alex, Michael's pet, the Chosen One. The boy had been there with Michael, when Gabriel had arrived at the scene in Vega. And they had been pointing swords at each other.

Michael continued to gaze upward. "That didn't occur to you, did it?"

Gabriel frowned.

"Did it?" Michael looked down at him. "Was that part of your plan, Gabriel? Answer me."

"No."

Michael wasn't satisfied with the answer. His jaw twitched. His cheeks flushed, as anger grew beneath the surface. Then abeuptly he roared: "Was it _part of your plan, for me to kill Alex?"_

"No!" Michael was not the only one who could shout. The word echoed from the walls around them.

The two of them glared at each other in the moonlight.

Michael's voice fell once more to a whisper: "Do you have any idea—"

"We need the boy's markings."

"—what would have happened—?"

"He's safe, Michael."

Michael paused. "Safe how? Safe where? Not in Vega?"

"He's not in Vega."

Michael's jaw twitched again. "You took him."

"He _came_ to me. Free will. That was our agreement; he had to come on his own."

Michael looked up at the stars again. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "And you—"

"I won't talk about it."

Michael winced. "How bad?"

"No, Brother. Our agreement. He came to me; he's under my care, now."

"Tell me how badly he's hurt!" shouted Michael. "I know your ' _care_ ,' Brother. I want to help him!"

"You _left_ him, Brother. He wants nothing to do with you."

Michael sucked in a breath.

Gabriel let his tone become mocking: "Why not just stay here and beat up the rocks." He was angry, angry at being tricked and pinned, angry at himself for lying and hurting Michael. Of course Alex missed Michael, and it was terribly cruel to tell him otherwise.

Michael got up. He paced toward Gabriel's clothes and found his sword. "Do you keep this sharp?"

"Always."

Michael drew it, making Gabriel worry what other part of him might be pierced. To Gabriel's simultaneous relief and horror, though, Michael began shaving feathers from his other wing with a grim, determined demeanor.

"Damn it, Brother!" Gabriel snarled. He tried to sit up, but of course his wings would not allow it. "Why are you doing this? To torment me, is that it?"

"If I wanted to torment you, I have opportunity." The answer was cold. "This is for me."

"Self-torture, Brother? Really? Is that what we've fallen to?"

Michael paused.

"Why not write dark poetry and carve on your wrists while you're at it?"

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Do not belittle me."

Gabriel kept up his merciless mocking: "I should have brought eyeliner rather than wine. Oh, what was I thinking?"

Michael got a running start and kicked him in the wounded ribs, hard enough to splatter blood across the dirt and sand. Gabriel cried out, not only from his side but from the dual rip at his wings. He took a minute to catch his breath.

"You fail to see the point," Michael barked at him.

"Let me up!" Gabriel snarled. "You're not going to answer me. You're not going to fight me. You're just going to cut yourself and whine."

"The point is, if I'm wounded and wingless, I _can't hurt anyone_!"

"You're an idiot!" Gabriel retorted. "You're not damming the flood, you're just damning yourself!" He wrenched his arms upward to grab the nearest blade with his bare hands. He began to work it out of the ground, trying not to slice his palms in the process.

"Did you not hear my point?" Michael's boot landed heavily on his chest.

"I heard your ridiculous point." Gabriel glowered up at him. "You want to cripple yourself, so Father's Great Flood can't drown anyone. Boo-fucking-hoo."

Michael kicked him in the face.

Gabriel winced. "Cheap shot," he muttered. "Go back to cutting yourself." He almost had the first blade out of the ground. _Maybe it's best if Brother does cripple himself,_ he concluded. _I can take all three blades and leave. The feathers will take time to regrow, and Brother will have plenty of time to think things over._

_. . . And perhaps I can bring him food and water, later, if he apologizes for this._

Michael snatched hold of the blade Gabriel was freeing. They locked eyes. There was clarity, in that strained moment, when Gabriel knew absolutely Michael intended to twist the blade. He stiffened and grimly prepared himself; the damage would be extensive to the wing and joint. It might take weeks to heal, never mind the agony he would experience meantime in this desert hell. Gabriel reached out to brush Michael's boot. He transmitted through their bond: _Please. Don't._

Michael's hand tightened, but he didn't move otherwise. Several seconds went by, then he yanked the blade straight from the ground. No twisting. __

Gabriel exhaled.

"There's no point in crippling you." Michael pulled the other blade out the same way. "Both of us trapped here would leave Alex unprotected."

Gabriel decided not to mention Noma was protecting Alex. He simply nodded and folded himself to a sitting position. He smoothed his hair back, only to have it flop maddeningly over his right eye again. He resisted the urge to hug both his wings, as surely that would look ridiculous. He had a flash of some cartoon angel: chibi-Gabriel on the ground, legs splayed, hugging enormous, black feathery wings.

Michael sheathed his twin swords and set them aside. He sat down not far away, drinking more wine and occasionally chewing a date. After several minutes, in a low tone he added: "You are still beautiful, Brother."

Well, there was safe territory. Gabriel leaned back, placing his palms on the cool sand. "As are you, Brother." He paused. "Why won't you show me?" He reached for the wine bottle.

Michael handed it over, but did not answer.

Gabriel drank deeply, then set the bottle down. "Michael."

Michael spoke the word through stiff, barely-parted lips: "Cuts."

"I knew it." Gabriel rolled to his feet with a sigh. "Show me."

"No."

"Show me." He captured the edge of Michael's robe. "What did you do?"

Impatiently Michael waved him off, but Gabriel tugged. He pulled until the robe came away, dragging from Brother's lean, strong frame. He was shirtless, beneath. The pale skin emerged from under the shadowed cape: pure white perfection zigzagged with dark, bloody sacrilege.

"You _fucking_ idiot." Gabriel backhanded him, hard. It was pure reprimand, not an attack.

Michael took it as such and shrugged it off. "It did not weaken me as much as I had hoped."

"So you shaved your wings."

"That was to keep me trapped. The blood loss was incidental."

Gabriel turned his back on Michael. He gazed out over the rippled sand, wondering how much of the scattered orange-red stain was blood. His mood had soured. He had come to check on Michael, not fight him. Even though, in all honesty, that is what happened nearly every time they met these days. More to the point, he had not expected injury and accusation. He had certainly not expected damage.

Gabriel frowned. Least of anything had he expected to find Michael wounding and damning himself to isolation, anguish, and misery. That was . . . completely unforeseen. Was _this_ what he had garnered with his machinations? Had he created this, by triggering the "Flood?"

Without turning, Gabriel spoke: "Come to my Aerie, Brother. Don't 'dam' yourself out in the desert. At least at home, I can keep an eye on you."

"I need to be alone."

"Are you sure?" Gabriel gave him a long look over one shoulder.

Michael returned that look. "I'm sure."

Gabriel watched him. They both knew there was someone else at the Aerie with whom Michael would very much like to be. Surely that could lure him.

_What of the boy?_

Michael heard the transmission but did not answer right away.

"Michael?"

The answer was quiet, through their link: _You're right. I abandoned him._

_He's mine, then,_ Gabriel concluded.

Michael's green eyes stared blankly into the distance. "I don't know why you are asking permission, Gabriel. I know you have already claimed him."

"We have always shared," Gabriel pointed out. "But I know this one is. . . ."

"Special." The word was whispered. __

Gabriel gave a small, teasing smile. _Very attached to this one, Brother?_

Michael gave him a stern look. _Don't you dare harm him. Be_ gentle _with him. I know how you can be._

_I can be far gentler than you,_ Gabriel reminded him. _My discipline rarely scars._

Michael moved forward to pet Gabriel's wing, but that was a sore spot, both literally and figuratively; Gabriel jerked back with a warning look.

"Get over your anger, Michael." Gabriel backed off.

Michael's wings lowered. "How can I get over it, when you intentionally stir it?"

"My mistake, then." Gabriel spotted his sword beyond Michael; he went to retrieve it, but Michael captured him by the wrist.

"Stay."

"Oh no." Gabriel held up his hand. "This. This _cutting_ and self-mutilation and I-need-to-be-alone. You work on that. I'll have no part." He spoke the words, but he did not truly mean them. Never before had he abandoned Michael, and he would not—could not—when Michael so obviously needed him now. He did need a break, however, to recover, to gather his thoughts. To make Michael think about this.

Michael didn't release his wrist. Gabriel pulled it free.

"You won't stay," Michael murmured.

"I won't."

"Then bring Alex."

For a moment, Gabriel pictured the boy trapped with Michael, who in better times had expressed his rage by daylong binges of beatings and slaughter. He saw ropes cutting into Alex's skin, saw the look of horror seeping into those blue eyes—eyes that were already haunted and increasingly sick, every time Gabriel entered the room. He drew himself up. Was this what Michael wanted, for his special pet? And what would Michael do when he realized he'd broken that very pet? More wing-shaving, no doubt. In a crisp tone, Gabriel spoke: "No."

Michael took a cautious step back.

"I know what you do, when you're angry," Gabriel told him. "No."

"I've never—"

"And you won't. Not with him." Gabriel folded his arms.

Michael actually blinked in surprise.

"I need the boy's hide intact," Gabriel told him, "if we're going to bring Father back."

"I—"

"The whip marks, Brother. They're already spreading down his back."

Michael shut his mouth.

Gabriel let him absorb that. He thought privately: _Remember it now, do you? I'm more familiar with that whip than I am with your hands._ He softened his tone. "When you are calmer, you can see him, perhaps."

Michael looked pained, but he nodded. "You are right, of course. That is why I came out here in the first place. So I would not hurt him."

"Precisely."

Part of Michael seemed to deflate. He turned and slipped to the ground, tossing his blades aside by the cloak.

Gabriel paced toward him. He sank down in the cool sand, sliding a slow palm across Brother's back. "You should have helped me, not pinned me by the wings and tormented me."

"I was making a point."

"You were making an ass of yourself."

"I'm good at it." Michael's voice was quiet.

Gabriel bent to kiss his shoulder. "You are beautiful. Don't ever cut yourself again."

"I won't. It didn't achieve what I needed, at any rate."

"Promise me."

Michael half-turned. "Yes?"

Gabriel stared at him sincerely. He clasped Michael's hand.

"It bothers you that much," Michael concluded.

"You've no idea."

"I cannot promise. I might need to do it again, some day."

Gabriel gritted his teeth in frustration. "I am so goddamned angry at you."

"Likewise." But Michael's face was not anger. Michael sat up and pulled him close, face to face. As he did, Gabriel felt something hard and mean inside him dissolve. He slipped his arms under Michael's wings and pulled those around him, securing his own wings firmly around Michael's body at the same time. Finally Gabriel leaned forward, trembling at the strain, and rested his head on Michael's shoulder.

Then everything just . . . stopped. Michael gave a long, slow exhalation. He clasped his palm to the back of Gabriel's head. For a long time they sat like that, very still, listening to one another's heartbeat. They were sharing each other—perfection and rest, forgiveness and wholeness and healing. Everything passed wordlessly between them, through their link.

Michael became calm. There was no talk of betrayal, or shaving one's feathers off. No mention of humans or floods. It was as it was supposed to be: just the two of them. As it had been before everything went wrong.

Gabriel nestled into Brother's embrace, holding and being held. There was love here. Love beyond words, beyond breaking. Tenderly he kissed Michael's jaw. Michael held him and asked nothing of him but to stay like this.

_I love you._

Neither of them knew which one said it. That didn't matter. They were linked so deeply now that the thought occurred in both, simultaneously.

Gabriel could feel the cuts on Michael's arms. He could feel the raw, ripped skin and prickly insult of shorn feathers.

"How long will Alex be safe?" was the next thing Michael said.

Ah, Alex. It always came back to Alex. Gabriel sighed. "A few more hours."

"You should head back, then."

"I can linger. You are more important."

"No, I'm not." A crease appeared in Michael's forehead. "You have to keep him safe, Gabriel. All I need is for one of your Lieutenants to—"

"They wouldn't dare lay hand upon him."

"And the eight-balls? You know full well you don't control all of them."

Gabriel scowled. "Fine. I concede the point."

Michael patted him. _Just remember what I said. He is special._

_I shall._ Gabriel smiled. _Trust me, Brother. I shan't steal him. He doesn't even like me._

_Just keep him safe, and do not hurt him._

_Too late for that,_ murmured Gabriel. _But I will heal him. You have my word._

Michael scowled.

_These things happen, Brother. You know that._

_They seem to happen fairly often where you're concerned._

Gabriel laughed. _Shhh. That's the pot calling the kettle black, no? Let's not "go there," as they say._

Michael nodded curtly. _Trying to trust you, Gabriel, is like trying to trust lightning not to strike. You know it will, you just don't know when or where._

_That hurts._ Slowly Gabriel pulled his wings from around Michael's body and slid them into their sheathes. Michael did the same, freeing him.

"Will you stay here, Michael?"

"For a time. Then I think I might head southeast."

"Do you want company?"

"I meant it when I said I need to be alone."

Gabriel nodded. "If you hurt yourself again, though, I'll throw you in my dungeon."

"If you hurt Alex again, I'll break you in twain."

"Fair enough." Gabriel rolled to his feet and brushed sand off himself. The sun was rising above the eastern wall of the dam, bringing out the reds and oranges in the landscape. "I'm leaving the treats. You're welcome."

"Are you fit to fly?"

Gabriel checked his wings, which were missing a few feathers from their fight and still trickling blood from the joint. "I think so," he answered, but grimaced inwardly. They were in bad shape, and hurt hugely to flex, but even if he had to walk he would not stay in Michael's dam. This was Michael's fate, not his.

Michael was examining his own wings when Gabriel turned around. He pulled on his damaged armor and belted his sword. His eyes went to Brother's discarded raiment.

_Can I leave,_ he wondered, _trusting Michael not to mutilate himself?_ This was a trust that did not come readily. Michael did what Michael wanted to do. Period.

"I do not think I am flight-worthy," Michael concluded. "Between your attack and my own efforts, I've lost a fair amount of plumage."

Gabriel bent and dug for what he knew lay beneath the cloak. He could see their outline plainly in the first trickle of sunlight.

"I will never betray you, Brother."

Michael tilted his head with a quizzical look, turning his attention back to Gabriel.

Gabriel bent his legs and launched himself into the air, giving a massive downdraft of dust and sand.

Michael squinted, protecting his narrowed eyes with an upthrust arm. "Brother?" he barked suspiciously.

Gabriel flew straight up—a feat he knew Brother could not accomplish, with compromised plumage—until the dam was little more than a rectangle on the wrinkled earth below.

Only then did he place the twin blades securely in his belt, along with his regular sword.

"I love you, Brother," he murmured. "You'll get these back when you're better."

With that he headed home, back to Michael's Alex and the war-torn Aerie.  
  
---  
  
**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Damning the Flood - Part II (only version, Rated R)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718147) by [aimlesscoyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/aimlesscoyote), [Gabriel Muse (aimlesscoyote)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimlesscoyote/pseuds/Gabriel%20Muse)




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